


Do You Remember?

by CaiPrince13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliance Through Season 2, Canonical Character Death, De-Aged Derek Hale, F/M, Kid!Derek, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaiPrince13/pseuds/CaiPrince13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why do you think I need your help?” Derek demanded somewhat petulantly, beginning to regain his equilibrium.</p>
<p>'Maybe you would like to forget?  I can help you erase all of that guilt, make you what you once were, part of a world where you never played a part in the extermination of your kin.'</p>
<p>Derek swallowed hard.  He didn’t quite dare to believe that things could change, but he wanted it.  He wanted it more than anything.</p>
<p>~.~.~.~.~</p>
<p>Alternately: De-aged Derek, snotty unicorns named Desmond, and lots of trouble.  What more could you want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Applesandbannas747](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesandbannas747/gifts), [KillerKookaburra666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKookaburra666/gifts).



> **This fic is on hiatus (as of 10 December 2013) because of time limitations and my personal boredom with Teen Wolf just now. If you want to bookmark it or whatever, I'll probably come back to it eventually, but I wanted to let you know that it'll be a while. Sorry for those of you who were enjoying reading it, I'll really try to come back to it as soon as possible. I think I'm going to start only updating after I've finished a fic from now on so this doesn't happen again.**
> 
> Well, this is my first Sterek fic. I have a thing for de-aged Derek, okay, and this needed to be written before season 3 comes out and makes me change things because I can't stand writing non-canon. I did, however, ignore most of the spoilers we've had this summer.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. I'd LOVE to hear what you guys think so please comment and critique!
> 
> If you are curious about the progress of this fanfiction, go ahead and comment, but I will also try to keep my progress updated on my [Writing Tumblr](http://caiprince13writing.tumblr.com/).

Derek couldn’t remember the last time he had felt quite so lost.  No, that was a lie, he was pretty sure he was always lost, but he usually did a better job of denying it.  He was great at denial.  It was probably the only reason he could keep going at all.

Right now, though, he was pretty sure that things couldn’t get much worse, save the coming of the apocalypse.  His own prospects were looking closer and closer to it, too.  Despite what he pretended, he was aware that he fucked up nine times out of ten, it was pretty damn obvious, but he had hoped that maybe they could overlook that, at least for now.  With the alpha pack in town, it seemed that they were all pretty much screwed.  He and Laura had narrowly escaped having anything to do with them when they fled to New York, but flight wasn’t feasible in his current situation.  He didn’t know what he was doing and he really wished Mom was here.  Or even Laura.

It was ironic really, that he was so desperate for his sister to boss him around again after spending the first half of his life wishing she wouldn’t.  Laura would have been able to convince Scott, too.  She was bossy and always right, the way, Derek supposed, older sisters usually were.  He _knew_ they needed to stick together, not out of any sense of loyalty, he wasn’t sure there would ever be any of that between them, but because their survival depended on it.

Little as he knew about the alpha pack, he wasn’t about to underestimate their intentions.  They were a cautionary tale among werewolves, the supreme authority, bowing down to no law and fearing no hunters.  They were like superheroes to werewolf cubs, but not the heroic ones.  They were the ones that slaughtered you when you misstepped and had no one to watch your back.  Which, of course, was exactly the position Derek was in.

Peter had vanished, unsurprisingly, so Derek didn’t even have his guidance to fall back on.  He could go to the vet, but he was wary of the man.  Erica and Boyd . . . well, they were probably better off with another pack.  Even Isaac seemed to be gravitating away.  Though the teen essentially lived with him in the loft, he spent an increasing amount of time with Scott.  Derek had, once again, found himself in the unfortunate position of being more or less an omega, regardless of his alpha status.

Shamefully, Derek had half a mind to just high tail it out of town and leave Beacon Hills to Scott and the pack which, as was becoming ever more obvious, was more his than it ever was Derek’s.

Banishing his lingering resentment toward Scott, he pulled his Camaro into his designated space behind the, admittedly decrepit-looking, apartment building that contained his loft.  Isaac wasn’t there when he opened the door, probably hanging around at the McCall’s place where the fridge likely had more than a stale loaf of bread and some questionable cheese sticks.

He would keep trying to convince Scott.  There was nothing else to do, but he was starting to realize that his argument was losing its validity.  Scott wasn’t the one without a pack anymore, Derek was, and he didn’t really have anything else to bring to the table unless they needed someone who could legally buy beer.

New York was really starting to sound good, despite the smells and noise.  He had never really intended to return to Beacon Hills, and now that Laura was gone, he had no desire to stay.  In New York, the dense population and busy lifestyle of the people made it easy to blend in, even if he sometimes longed for the solitude of the preserve.  But this little town was where all of Derek’s ghosts resided.  It was full of memories.  The bad ones that hollowed him into depression and the good ones to which he could attach nothing but guilt.

In a sick sort of way, it was probably better that he didn’t form any attachments here.  After they finished with the alpha pack (assuming they survived), Derek could slip back to the big apple without any trouble.  Isaac could formalize his place in Scott’s pack and Derek could try to find another to join.  Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even return to New York.  He could find somewhere entirely new.  He heard there was a pack in Texas that was always looking to recruit a new member.  It wouldn’t be the same type of pack as the one he grew up with, but it was something.  Giving up his alpha status didn’t seem that bad, really.  At least then he wouldn’t have the responsibility weighing on him until he could hardly breathe.

Derek sighed as he closed the door with an echoing click.  The loft was a nice place, though Derek tried not to get attached to it.  He had left it pretty much exactly as it was when he moved in with the addition of a couple beds, a ratty old couch, and an armchair he had found at a thrift store.  Honestly, he would have liked to stay longer at the train station, but after receiving a warning about squatting, Derek figured it was best not to test his luck with the police.  Now would be an inconvenient time to land his ass in jail.

Collapsing across the couch, Derek wondered if it was a bad idea to rest his eyes for a few minutes.  There was probably something he should be doing right now, but he just felt exhausted.  The couch smelled a bit like cats and dust, maybe a little mould, but given that he found it on the side of the road, it wasn’t too bad, and it was comfortable enough.  His eyes drifted shut as he listened to the whirr of the AC unit in the corner.

~

It was a monday, and Derek wasn’t exactly sure why he was so restless.  Sometimes it got like this with the moon, but it wouldn’t be full for nearly two weeks.  When Isaac loitered back into the apartment with a half-smile, smelling strongly of Scott and a bit like Stiles, Derek’s agitation peaked and he grabbed his coat and keys.

“Where are you going?” Isaac asked, subdued.  Derek shrugged.

“Out,” he said.  Honestly, he didn’t really know where he was going.  He figured that he might drive around for a while, get a drink at a bar that would do nothing to dim his awareness, but at least contributed to the atmosphere.

The Camaro was soothing and he drove until he didn’t know where he was anymore.  Laura used to do this, he remembered.  Derek would wake up and she’d just be gone.  She might not come back for days, and when she did she would come in with a smile but smelling of guilt, with a little something for Derek as though he was a child to be placated.  He tried to convince her that he didn’t mind, but she knew it was a lie and the guilt on her only strengthened.  Underneath it, though, he could tell it helped, made her more whole than she was before.  

It wasn’t until she died that he understood why she would leave, and it hurt to think about it.  All he wanted after the fire was to be close to her, but he thought he understood the feeling of alienation now, of needing to shy away from getting close.  He felt that way with his betas sometimes . . . at least, he used to.

By the time he rolled back into town, the moon was high, and a glance at the dashboard showed that it was nearing midnight.  He didn’t stop at the loft, though, continuing past it toward the preserve.  Regardless of the hunters and alphas, Derek needed to run.  It was like a fire in his veins that made him want to rip into his own skin and he knew that it wouldn’t stop until he appeased it.  So when he reached the edge of the woods, just far enough in that his Camaro wouldn’t attract attention, he shoved his jacket on the passenger seat and took off.

He ran until the burn in his muscles replaced that in his veins and every breath was like ice in his lungs.  He didn’t know how far he got through the preserve when he suddenly sensed something off about his surroundings.  Slowing his pace, Derek glanced around, ears pricked for any unusual sounds.  He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to push away the thought that he might have unwittingly stumbled upon the alphas.  It didn’t feel like other wolves, though, the presence lacking that sense of threat that he got whenever he wandered across the path of a non-pack member in New York.  All there was was a sense of strangeness that made the hairs at the back of his neck prickle.

Reaching a clearing which he recognized as being about a mile from his house, Derek stopped completely, the unfamiliar sensation reaching an intense level.  There was still no sense of threat from it, but that might just be overconfidence in his alpha powers.  Derek turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning the trees and stopping to land on a giant figure with gleaming blue eyes even brighter than those of a werewolf.

He froze, taking a minute to realize that the eyes belonged to an equine creature, taller and more slender than a horse with a silky coat of pitch.  It’s cloven hooves were nearly invisible under thick silver but somehow iridescent feathering which matched it’s long mane.

Derek was so hypnotized by it’s uncanny beauty that it took him a minute to put a name to the beast.  When he did, he was a bit concerned that he hadn’t even noticed the three foot long horn protruding from its forehead.  The horn deepened from a pearly white near the skull to a black even deeper than the creature’s body then reddening into an incarnadine point.

So unless this was a trick of the moonlight, or he had been hit with some more of Lydia’s purple fairy-dust, unicorns were real.  And possibly blood-thirsty, if the glint in its eye was anything to go by.  Wouldn’t that just be his luck?

Neither moved for a long while as they contended in a heated staring match.  Though he was starting to feel uneasy, he couldn’t seem to muster the shift.  It was like the creature was suppressing it with its presence.  It took a step forward suddenly, and Derek shakily inhaled, watching as it approached him.

 _You are not a virgin, nor are you human,_ a voice echoed in his mind, the speech not words so much as meaning.  Derek shook his head, mind buzzing as it tried, and failed, to defend against the foreign presence.

 _You know what I am,_ it said, walking closer still, until it was almost close enough to touch.  Derek nodded, a bit dumbfounded and starting to feel overwhelmed.  He could feel it in his mind, poking around at thoughts and memories, bringing emotions to the forefront of his mind that he worked tirelessly to bury and ignore.

 _Why are you so scared?_ it demanded, studying Derk.

“I—“ Derek broke off, unable to articulate his thoughts.  It didn’t seem to matter to the unicorn because it took a step back, giving Derek space to breath.

_Don’t be afraid.  You aren’t pure.  You aren’t human, either, but maybe I’ll help you.  Just this once, because you are a strange creature and you might be good practice._

Derek wasn’t sure if he should be offended that he was a horse’s ‘practice’ or flattered that a unicorn wanted to help him.

_I am not a horse.  And my name is Desmond, refer to me as such._

A sort of snotty unicorn named, “Desmond?” he managed to choke out.  This was in no way how he would have imagined a meeting with a unicorn to go.

_If you don’t want my help, then I’ll go elsewhere._

“Why do you think I need your help?” Derek demanded somewhat petulantly, beginning to regain his equilibrium.

_Maybe you would like to forget?  I can help you erase all of that guilt, make you what you once were, part of a world where you never played a part in the extermination of your kin._

Derek swallowed hard.  He didn’t quite dare to believe that things could change, but he wanted it.  He wanted it more than anything.

 _It will not bring them back._ Desmond said before Derek could even open his mouth to ask.  _What’s lost beyond the veil of death is lost forever, beyond any power that I possess.  But you will be blessed with purity once more.  I can rewind time for you._

“Why?” Derek asked brokenly, feeling his breath catch on a sob, “What’s the point if it doesn’t change anything?  If it all ends in their deaths, what’s the point?”

_It doesn’t have to be your fault.  I can’t bring back the dead, but I can change the living.  I can change you.  Push you in the right direction.  I can’t promise that they will live, wolf, but I can change the role you play.  Beyond that, it’s up to fate._

Derek shook his head slowly.  Grief as strong as it was that first day pushed at his chest until he could feel tears burning in his eyes.  He didn’t want that, he didn’t want them back if he was just going to lose them again.  And if they did life, then it truly was his fault that they had died.  Never had he hoped so ardently that he was the key point in Kate’s plan, that his part was the thing that set events in motion.  But he didn’t know if he could do it.  He was a coward and all he wanted to do was run away.

_You may not lose them, wolf, I do not know, but even if you do, you will no longer have played a part, and isn’t that worth something?  I am a creature of healing, not of destruction, I do not want to bring you more harm.  That is the way my magic works.  If you don’t want it, I will leave, but you will never have this chance again._

Moisture seeped into the knees of his pants and Derek found himself kneeling on the ground, staring up at the unicorn, unsure when his legs had given out.  His hands trembled against his thighs, nails blunt and human.  Helpless.  He didn’t want to go through everything again, but if there was even the slightest chance that he could bring them back, didn’t he owe them that?

 _Are you certain?_ Desmond intoned softly.  Derek nodded, swallowing hard as his eyes fluttered closed.

“Yes,” he croaked, “do it.”

 _Good luck, wolf,_ he heard before a sharp pain in his chest had him opening his eyes to see the creatures horn piercing him straight through the heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I just finished finals, so I'm going to keep trying to get this completed before June.
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and critique are very welcome!
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)

“You’re kidding me, right?” Stiles snapped from the doorway.  Scott turned around, somewhat surprised by his friend’s sudden appearance.  He hadn’t seen Stiles in a couple days and now he was randomly showing up at Scott’s house.  Not that that was particularly unusual, but things had been a bit tense between them lately, and he wasn’t really sure why.  Isaac was reclining in on the sofa next to him, glancing back to see Stiles before using the distraction to kick Scott’s character off the boat in Super Smash Bros.  Scott gave Stiles a guilty look, feeling almost like he was cheating on his best friend, but he couldn’t help that he and Isaac had really hit it off at the animal clinic.  Kittens and puppies were never really Stiles’ thing.  He was more the dead bodies in the woods type of person, which was cool with Scott, but in a different way.

“What?” Scott asked, rolling his eyes as the game ended to cheers of _Snake, Snake, Snake!_ from the game spectators.  He could tell Stiles was irritated, restless, but he didn’t know why.  He tried to think through the last few days but nothing came to mind.

“How can you just sit here and play games?  Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, defending the town against pillaging alpha werewolves or something?  And aren’t you part of the rival pack?” Stiles asked, the last aimed at Isaac who merely shrugged, attention on the game.

“There are no pillaging alpha werewolves, Stiles,” Scott said, grinning at his friends dry look.  It was true, though.  There had been no pillaging.  In fact, they hadn’t even come across anything yet, though Isaac told them about the mark at the Hale house.  As far as Scott was concerned, there wasn’t anything to worry about yet and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.  He understood how their lives worked, it would be back to bloodshed by the end of the month.

“You’re just pissed because Lydia decided to tag along with Jackson for the summer,” Scott said, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ face as he tried (unsuccessfully) to come up with a retort.

“Yeah, well, whatever, Jackson’s a douche,” he scoffed, to which both Scott and Isaac hummed in agreement.  Deflating, Stiles walked over and squished himself next to Scott on the couch, stealing the good controller from Scott’s hands and shoving the one with the faulty right trigger at him.  Scott grinned, rolling his eyes.  At least things with Stiles were always easily repaired.

By the time Isaac left, the three of them had made it through Super Smash Bros, a Halo, and a couple intense rounds of Tekken Tag.  Stiles lingered after, though, and Scott had the sneaking suspicion that he wanted to talk about something, which was never a good sign.  He just hoped it wasn’t werewolf related.  Stiles was silent for far too long and Scott though that maybe he was just going to ignore whatever it was that was bothering him when he spoke.

“I think something funny is going on . . . again,” Stiles said.  Scott groaned.

“Funny like werewolf funny, or funny like life actually giving us a break, funny?”

“Werewolf funny.  Probably. Maybe.  Not necessarily _bad_ funny, though, just funny, funny,” Stiles said, making a face.  Scott stared at him blankly.

“You’ve lost me, dude,” Scott said.  Werewolf funny was usually bad funny, not funny, funny, and if this wasn’t werewolf funny, then there was really no reason to get involved.  He was pretty sure they had learned that after the whole ‘half a body’ thing had gotten them into all of this shit in the first place.

“Well, I only mention it because it’s the kind of funny that’s not really possible in a strictly human sort of sense.  Normally this wouldn’t be a problem since nothing has really gone _wrong_ , but my dad has received a couple calls about it from concerned citizens, and I don’t want him to get involved if it _is_ werewolf stuff,” he said with a sigh, his leg tapping rhythmically against the coffee table.  Scott looked over at his friend, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.  Sighing, Scott crossed his fingers, hoping that it was something that they could just sweep under the carpet, and not something that was going to end in death and destruction.

“What is it, then?” he asked at last, nudging Stiles with his shoulder.

“Uh, have you read the paper lately?” he asked.  Scott scoffed.

“Dude, I never read the paper.  Neither do you,” he added.  Stiles grinned, shrugging lopsidedly.

“It was an honest mistake,” Stiles said, “Anyway, a couple weeks ago, just before school let out, there was a report of a little girl who lost her sight in some accident a couple years ago, she wandered into the forest, yeah, _that_ forest,” Stiles clarified before Scott even had a chance to say anything, “When they found her three days later—“

“She wasn’t dead, was she?  Because if she was, that’s classified as _bad_ , Stiles,” he cut in.  Stiles rolled his eyes.

“She wasn’t dead.  I do know the definition of bad, thanks.  She was perfectly healthy, which is, you know, uncanny in the first place, because six-year-olds in the woods generally lead to trouble,” Scott grinned at that, “but on top of not having a scratch on her, she could see again.”

Taking a moment to think about that, Scott stood and grabbed two sodas from the fridge, tossing one to Stiles and opening the other.  That didn’t seem like a particularly bad thing to Scott, but it did sound a lot like werewolf business, or at least, non-human business.

“Are you listening?” Stiles demanded, opening his can and licking a stripe up the side when it dribbled over onto his fingers.

“Yeah, I heard you.  This is going to eat up our summer, isn’t it?” he said, groaning as he sat down on the couch again.

“It’s not just a hoax, either, because there have been three other incidents since then.  All children, and all in the same general vicinity.”

“We should probably check it out, then.  But maybe I should give Deaton a call first, he might have some idea what it is,” he said.  Deaton was away at some seminar or something, and the clinic was being run by an old colleague of his in the mean time.  Scot didn’t like her much, but at least it was only for a week.  Stiles nodded enthusiastically.

“Sure, I did some research myself, but I haven’t really come up with anything definitive.  Maybe Deaton will know which of these beasties actually exist.”

Scott grinned over at Stiles. “Could be worse, though, I mean, if it’s just healing people, it might not even want to kill us!”

“Don’t jinx it,” Stiles snorted.

~

The next day, Stiles received a text from Scott stating that Deaton was MIA.  Stiles was starting to believe that Deaton had a sort of sixth sense when it came to weird and unusual, using it to disappear whenever they needed help.  Maybe it was to maintain the facade of mysterious knower of all things.  A really unhelpful knower of all things, but Stiles had seen enough movies to understand plot device.  At least this was real life and not a book, because if it was, the mentor would end up dead just as they needed his help the most, and the tragic heroes would have to bullshit their way out of death’s grasp.  Or something like that.

Stiles sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair, which was getting a bit too long, now that he thought about it.  Nothing in the bestiary was looking all that promising and research was only made more difficult by the fact that the only one of them who knew Archaic Latin happened to have sworn off werewolves and fled to Florida with her boyfriend. Who was a werewolf.  Stiles wasn’t exactly sure how she could have both, but it was Lydia, so whatever.

His web browser had about fifty pages of research open, and he narrowing it down was going to be a pain.  There weren’t many references to things that healed children specifically, though a few mentioned virgins which, of course, brought him around to sacrifices, and was that a thing?  Virgin sacrifices?  If it was, he really needed to get laid.  It would be just his luck to die, not only a virgin, but _because_ he hadn’t lost his v-card.  Supernatural creatures sucked.

The articles had been more or less useless with few specifics and a focus on the “and doctors are baffled”s and “it’s a miracle!”s so Stiles had quickly moved on from there.  He could hardly ask his dad, either.  Because of what his dad liked to call Stiles’ “lack of respect for personal boundaries,” and what Stiles liked to call “professional curiosity,” he had been listening in on phone calls regarding this particular phenomenon.  The police weren’t really involved, but his dad had still received a couple of calls from concerned citizens wondering if they should be worried about gas leaks or something.  Still, no one had been hurt and the first girl was the only one who had gone missing, so it they weren’t looking into it too closely.

Stiles hoped it stayed that way.  After a year of this werewolf stuff, Stiles knew better than to take for granted that something that appeared harmless was actually harmless.  Take Allison Argent, for example, at first she seemed like a total Disney princess, but give her a bow and some arrows and you suddenly have some werewolves that bear a striking resemblance to hedgehogs.  Minus Scott, though, because he just had all the luck, it seemed.  Not that Stiles was complaining; Scott was his favorite after all.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to get bored of the research that was going nowhere.  It was only about five o’clock, so he thought that he could probably make it over to the Hale property and the surrounding woods before it got too dark.  His dad wouldn’t be back until late, either, so he didn’t have to worry about explaining away his absence.

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles said when Scott picked up on the second ring.  “I’m heading over to check out the scene of the crime, or rather, the scene of the miracles, you coming?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, we should wait until we can reach Deaton.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the whining tone, stuffing a flashlight and a couple books into his backpack before shouldering it and heading out of his room.

“It’ll be fine, dude, I’m just checking it out, and it’s not even dark yet.  What self-respecting creature of the night comes out before the sun goes down?” he asked.

“The kind that doesn’t come from a horror movie?” Scott grumbled, but Stiles could tell he was winning.  “You don’t even know what you’re looking for!”

“That’s the point,” Stiles said, turning the key in the ignition and listening to Scott’s irritated huff.

“Fine, pick me up at Deaton’s in fifteen, I just have to finish cleaning the cats’ cages, then I can head out,” he relented.  Stiles fist pumped the air, hitting the end button on his phone.

 

It was actually closer to a quarter to six by the time he had picked Scott up and pulled into the preserve.  Scott didn’t need a flashlight to see in the dark, so Stiles clicked it on for himself and waved it across the path.  They were near the Hale property, probably not far from where they had gone looking for Laura’s body.  It was quiet except for the occasional squawk of a bird or rustling branch.  Scott was mostly silent, too, extra vigilant as he listened for unusual sounds.  Stiles was less so, but tried to keep the noise to a minimum.

“Do you think you’ll be able to smell it?” he asked.  Scott shrugged.

“I don’t know.  It’s not like I’m familiar with every scent out here, but I’m hoping it’ll be something extra strange smelling,” Scott said shrugging.  It was something, at least, even though they had no idea what they were looking for.

As the reached where the narrow trail they were on branched into two paths, one fairly well worn, and the other almost nonexistent, Scott froze, throwing an arm out that caught Stiles hard in the chest.  Stiles stumbled back, rubbing at his chest.

“Dude, careful with the fragile human,” he said, then stopped when he saw Scott’s expression.  “What is it?”

“Be quiet,” Scott hissed, glancing around as his eyes flashed yellow in the dark.  Stiles’ heartbeat rocketed and he did a fast spin trying to see what Scott was listening to, but only managing to trip into Scott who grabbed his shoulders to keep him upright.

“What is it, though?” Stiles demanded.  Scott shook his head slowly.

“Nothing . . . I don’t hear anyone, but can’t you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Stiles asked, still looking around nervously.  Scott eyed him strangely.

“That . . . tingling, feeling.  Like electricity, but softer?  You seriously don’t feel that?” he said and Stiles shook his head.

“Not at all.  Do you think it’s a werewolf thing?  Like the mountain ash?” Stiles mused, “Maybe it only eats werewolves and the tingling is it slowly digesting you from outside its body.”

“Stiles, I’m serious!” Scott said.

“So am I!” he responded, unsuccessfully trying to shake Scott of when he grabbed his arm, tugging him backwards on the trail.

“We should come back later with backup,” Scott said, “this thing feels powerful and we have no idea what it is.”

“By ‘backup’ you mean . . .”

“Isaac and Derek,” Scott said, shrugging.  Stiles gave an exaggerated groan but allowed himself to be pulled back toward the Jeep.

“Why do we always end up working with them?  I mean Isaac’s not half bad, I’ll admit, but Derek Hale?  Can’t we avoid that part?  I mean, if you tell Derek, he’s going to go all ‘I’m the alpha now,’ and want to absorb you into his pack again.”

“I think I made it pretty clear the last time that that wasn’t going to work,” Scott said, rolling his eyes as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

“No, dude,” Stiles continued, “come Valentine’s Day, you’re going to be finding a dead bunny on your porch with a little werewolf card ‘Be my Beta, Scott? XOXO,” hearts and all.”

“Fine,” Scott said, socking Stiles lightly in the shoulder, “I’ll just talk to Isaac, but we should probably see if he can mention it to Derek, anyway, just to discern whether or not he knows anything.”

“Considering Derek’s favorite words are ‘I don’t know,’ I’m thinking it’s not likely,” Stiles scoffed, even as Scott put his phone to his ear.   

Isaac was willing to look around with them, but it turned out that he hadn’t seen Derek in a couple days, and didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back.

“Seriously?” Stiles said when Scott related this to him.  “Doesn’t he practically _live_ with Derek?  How can he not have seen him in a couple days?”

“I don’t know, do you think he’s dead?  What if the stuff in the woods is actually the alpha pack?” he asked, sounding about as concerned as Stiles was feeling.

“No, thats . . . I don’t know, but we can’t get rid of him that easily.  Maybe Derek’s been busy?  What if he actually has a job and a life that we don’t know about?  He has been here for almost a year now,” Stiles said thoughtfully, “He could be a stripper.  A really angry, sarcastic stripper.”

“Dude,” Scott complained, pulling a disgusted face, “that was not an image that I ever needed in my head.”

“Seriously, though,” Stiles said, grinning, “he’s probably fine.  I mean, he’s the big bad alpha and all that.  He can take care of himself.”

“Sort of,” Scott amended for him, “He hasn’t got a very good track record, but we’ll just go with what you said.  There aren’t really werewolf-eating monsters out there, after all.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Stiles said, clapping Scott on the shoulder with mock condolence before climbing back into the Jeep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put up two chapters tonight because this one leaves a lot to be desired.
> 
> Comments and critique are always welcome!

Even as they reached his house, the strange sensation tingled about like sand in uncomfortable places.  Scott watched as Stiles left, giving him a strict warning about calling him if there was anymore news either from Isaac or Deaton.  Scott doubted there would be, but open lines of communication were probably a good idea anyway.  He didn’t mention it to Stiles, but Scott fully intended to head back out into the woods that night.  It was like the thing was pulling at him, and Scott wanted it to stop.  After Peter, Scott had had enough of things trying to control him.

By the time Scott reached his front door, though, his phone was already buzzing in his pocket.  He flipped it open to find a message from Isaac.

_I’m worried about Derek. He’s not usually gone this long._

_Did he tell you where he was going when he left?_ he replied, walking into his living room and flopping down on the couch.  The springs settled with a squeal under his weight and Scott kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.  A couple minutes later his phone buzzed again, this time with a phone call.

“Isaac?” Scott said, putting the phone to his ear.

“He didn’t say anything when he left, just that he was going out.  Sometimes he does that, you know?  Just leaves.  I don’t think he actually goes anywhere, really, but he’s usually back after a couple hours.  If he’s going to be gone longer, he at least texts me,” Isaac said without preamble.  Scott sighed.  That probably wasn’t a good sign.

“Have you looked around town?”

“Yeah,” Isaac affirmed, “but I can’t smell him.  You don’t think he’s dead, do you?  He seemed pretty worried about the alpha pack.  What if they have him?”

“I’m sure he’s just doing alpha-y things somewhere,” Scott said, sounding uncertain even to himself.  It was hard to muster any conviction when he was starting to feel pretty sure than Derek was dead, or at least not in a good situation.  He was a bit surprised about how unsettling the thought was.  After a long moment of Isaac’s hesitant silence, Scott heaved a put upon sigh and stood up.

“I’ll help you look for him,” he said, smiling at Isaac’s relieved huff.

“Thanks,” he said simply.  “Do you want to meet over by the cemetery?  I was going to head up through the woods toward his house.”

“All right,” Scott said, hanging up and sliding his phone back into his pocket.

 

Isaac waved from where he stood on the far side of lower lot of the cemetery, where the trees shaded him from the moon’s glow.  Scott had a strange relationship with the moon nowadays.  His instincts were content and at home in this wild place lit by the moon, but at the same time, Scott didn’t think that he hated anything quite so much as the power he could feel from it.  From the beginning, he felt little but resentment for the bite.  Sure, he was first string on lacrosse and Jackson wasn’t as intimidating anymore, but it had never seemed worth the price, that not only he, but everyone around him had paid.

“So are why are we starting here?” Scott asked when he reached Isaac’s side.  Isaac motioned toward a big marble headstone, and Scott glanced over it to see “HALE” printed in large letters at the top.  Underneath a list of names was carved into the stone.  Most of them were faded and dirty, but one stood out in relief to the surface.  Scott swallowed hard.  Seeing them all listed there, so impersonally in neat rows of letters made Scott grimace.

“Does he come here often?” Scott asked when he regained control of his tongue.

“Not often, but sometimes,” Isaac shrugged.  “It’s hard to visit, sometimes.  It makes it more real.”

Scott glanced over at his friend.  That was right, Isaac knew what it was like to lose his family.  As if he knew what Scott was thinking, Isaac threw him a lopsided smile and turned toward the tree line.  Senses pricked for anything unusual, the two made their way silently through the brush.  There was none of that strange sense from earlier around here, but there was also no trace of Derek.  Maybe they had waited too long to look for him, his scent fading into the surrounding scene.

Of course, it wasn’t really their job to look for Derek, anyway.  He was an adult and really ought to be able to look after himself without getting lost in the woods or anything.  Scott would rather be hanging out with friends (in a less ‘braving the wilds’ way and a more ‘teenagers lazing about on the couch’ way) or daydreaming about Allison.  He could almost smell her in the air.

“Does it smell like Allison to you?” Isaac muttered, a frown deepening the creases between his eyebrows.  Scott inhaled again.  That was definitely Allison, fear and anger mingling with the soft scent of her shampoo.

“Yeah,” he said, heart jumping anxiously as he wondered why Allison would be out here so late at night.  “I’m going to go check it out.”

Isaac nodded and followed when Scott disappeared into the bushes at a run.  Scott shifted within a matter of seconds, moving as quietly as he could toward her scent.  As he neared, he could make out the quiet sound of shuffling leaves and the thumping of Allison’s panicked heartbeat.  Scott could hear her struggling.  He motioned for Isaac to go around to the other side, in case they were overwhelmed, before putting on a burst of speed as he leapt into the clearing.

A man (werewolf, his brain supplied) had Allison, unarmed and restrained by the neck, his claws biting into her skin hard enough to draw blood, the tang of her blood in the back of Scott’s throat eliciting a low growl.  Allison’s eyes lit over to him just as he lunged at the attacker.  the man stumbled in surprise when Allison brought her head back into his nose as he turned to face Scott.  It was enough of a distraction, though, and Scott had his caws out, slashing across his collar as Allison ducked and rolled to the side.  The red flash of his eyes made Scott’s heart thump hard in his chest.  He lunged again, but the alpha was faster, evading the blow and swiping his claws along Scott’s stomach.

Scott howled in pain, but stood his ground, situating himself between Allison and the attacker.  He seemed to notice what Scott was trying to do, though, because the next second he was grabbed by the collar and thrown into a poplar which splintered at the force.  Scott grimaced as he stood, trying to maintain the shift through the pain.  The alpha continued staring down at him, advancing with glowing eyes fixed on him from beneath a set of heavy brows.  Scott couldn’t help the ridiculous thought of Cruella De Vil watching him from underneath a rock.

The alpha began to shift more fully, his face contorting in a snarl as hair sprouted down his cheeks and jaw.  Scott struggled to his feet, though he was pretty sure at this point that he was going to be eaten, and howled.  That was enough of a signal and Isaac barreled out of the forest football tackling him just as a rock, courtesy of Allison, hit him square in the temple.  Momentarily confused, the alpha went down, his shift wavering back into a beta form.  It wasn’t much, the alpha tossing Isaac to the side, but it was enough for Scott to break through his guard and sink his teeth into the man’s jugular.

The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he snarled, holding his grip even through the alpha’s struggles, his claws raking deep into Scott’s side.  It wasn’t until he went completely limp that Scott let go, dropping him to the ground with a low thud in the eery quiet of the night.  Scott spit into the dirt, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.  He didn’t particularly want to leave the alpha’s body here, be it as a warning or declaration of war, but they needed to get out of there before anyone else showed up.  Alerted by his howl, they were probably on their way now to check it out.

“Allison, we have to go,” he said desperately, stretching out a human hand to her.  She looked wide eyed from the wolf to Scott then to Isaac who was standing, seeming unharmed.  After a moment’s hesitation, though, she took his hand and the three of them headed at a fast sprint toward the trail and back into civilization.  When they neared the tree line, Scott slowed, head feeling fuzzy.  It might have been the damage the alpha had done, but his head started pounding, even the moonlight suddenly seemed too bright and the sound of Allison’s breathing amplified in his ears until he thought that his eardrums might explode.  He could sense Isaac’s unease even as Allison spoke.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to pull his hands from his eyes, where he found them pressing into his eyelids.

“Scott?” Isaac asked in a wary voice that Scott didn’t have the brainpower to analyze.  It was when he felt the shift pushing itself on him that everything suddenly clicked into place.

“You have to get out of here, Allison,” he said, pushing her away as gently as he could manage.

“Why?  What’s wrong?  You have to come with us, there are strange werewolves here,” she said, still trying to tug at his arm.

“Isaac,” Scott pleaded.  He knew that there was no love lost between Isaac and Allison, but he needed them to get away before he did something.  “Hurry, you have to get her out of her.  Keep me away . . . I’m shifting and I can’t control it!”

“What do you — the alpha.  You killed an alpha,” she whispered in realization, even as Isaac tried to pull her toward the cemetery.  Scott crumpled in on himself, digging his claws into his palm and trying to focus on the pain, using it to anchor himself.

“Stop!” Allison screeched, and Scott looked up in time to see her yank her arm out of Isaac’s grip.  She took a hesitant step toward him, then, regardless of the tremor in her voice and the slight stutter of her heart.  “I know you can do it.  You told me, Scott, you told me that I was your anchor.  Focus!” Her voice calmed as she spoke, demanding, and Scott tried to concentrate on that, on Allison and remembering that the thing stronger than this power, than it’s desire for the moon was his love for her.  Color burst behind his eyelids as he pressed his palms against them once more, teeth biting into his lip so hard that a fresh burst of copper filled his mouth.

Gradually, he felt the pull of the shift recede, still present and almost terrifying in its potency, but not trying to burst out anymore.  Scott removed his hands to see Allison staring at him and looking shaken but relieved.  Isaac, too, looked relieved, though he was still on the other side of the clearing.  Scott wondered if it had to do with the alpha’s power or if he was trying to give them some privacy.

Allison offered a small smile, and he took her hand when she reached to help him up.  “This is bad,” Scott told them as they made it back to Allison’s car, which was parked a few blocks away where she had been taken on her way to the supermarket.

“It might be.  I don’t really know the implications of being an alpha . . . but I think I need to tell my dad,” she said, looking guilty.  Scott grimaced.  This probably made him an even bigger problem in the hunters’ minds.

“Can you wait?  I understand, but can you wait until I have a little time to figure it out?” he asked, giving her his best pleading look.  She shuffled her feet nervously, but gave him a quick nod of agreement.

“Okay, but I do have to tell him, Scott.  I don’t think keeping it from him will do anything for your safety, or anyone else’s, especially if he finds out first,” she warned as she climbed into her SUV.  Scott stepped back as she turned on the car, but she didn’t leave, instead rolling down the window.

“Thank you, Scott,” she said, “and Isaac.”  Scott grinned and he saw Isaac give her an awkward nod out of the corner of his eye.  “See you around.”

~ 

Stiles was sitting on his bed, reading through an old issue of Deadpool for about the sixty-seventh time, when his phone rang.  Stiles tossed the comic onto his bedside table and glanced at it to see Scott’s name.

“What do you want, dude?  Did you find anything?  Don’t tell me you actually got attacked by the werewolf-eating-monster.  You’re not dying, are you?  Because if you are, I don’t want to know about any severed limbs,” he said in way of greeting.  Scott snorted, which was a good sign, usually signifying that he was not in fact dying or in any sort of desperate situation.

“Not quite.  They probably don’t even exist, I mean who would want to eat a werewolf, anyway, when there are pale and delicious looking humans at hand?”  Scott teased before his tone got ominously sober, “I ran into an alpha, though, on the way to the Hale house with Isaac.”

Stiles sat up in bed, his brows drawing together.  “Shit, man, really?  You’re alive, though, right?  How’d you get away?”

“I’m coming over now, I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Stiles met Scott at the door about a minute later, studying his friend, just to make sure he was all in once piece.  His shirt hung in tatters underneath his hoodie, but it didn’t seem to be bothering Scott too much.

“You all right?” Stiles asked again, as Scott followed him up to his room.

“Yeah.  For a minute there I thought I was a goner, but Allison brained the guy with a rock and Isaac tackled him . . . and I killed him, Stiles.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay, though, he was trying to kill you first, right?  There’s a rule about being able to kill evil werewolves, no guilt necessary,” Stiles assured him.  Scott got this urgent look on his face, and sighed heavily as he sat down on the foot of Stiles’ bed.

“Stiles, that’s the point.  He was a werewolf.  An _alpha_ werewolf,” he said, staring expectantly at Stiles.

“Oh.  _Oh._ Oh my _god_ ,” he said as he picked up on what Scott was getting at.  “So now you . . . you’re a . . . I swear to god, if you say ‘I’m the alpha now,’ I will brain _you_ with a rock.”  Scott just stared blankly at him for a moment before Stiles waved the thought away, shrugging.

“But it’s true.  I am an alpha now,” Scott said, his tone anxious.

“Well,” Stiles muttered, “we can work with this.  Dude, after werewolf, alpha can’t be too much of a leap, right?”

“It is, though, and it’s different, Stiles.  It’s hard to explain, but it’s stronger than being a beta.  It’s like there’s something else in me.  Like I”m not the werewolf, anymore, but that the werewolf is _in_ me.  Don’t laugh!  I’m serious,” Scott said.  Stiles straightened his face into the appropriate solemnity.

“Okay, I’m being serious now.  We can figure it out.  We did all right with the original werwolf thing, and this time you don’t even have a homicidal alpha trying to control your ass!”

“What if I turn into the homicidal alpha, though?” Scott reasoned.  Stiles shrugged.

“We’ll deal with that later.  For now, Google.  And pizza.  The number’s taped to the fridge.  You do that and I’ll get started here,” he said, gesturing to his computer.  Scott rolled his eyes.

“Dude, you have the pizza place on speed dial, it’s number four.”  Stiles grinned, booting up his laptop while Scott went to grab the phone.

 

It turned out that alpha werewolves were not really the talk of the internet.  Or at least, not of that branch of internet that had anything near accurate information on the non-fictional variety of werewolves.  There was more than enough porn, but that wasn’t going to help at the moment.  Stiles vaguely wondered if it was more to do with the fact that people just didn’t know that werewolves existed, or if real werewolves were just extremely tight lipped about viable information.

But then, that wasn’t really surprising.  Mostly it was just irritating.  Stiles considered looking into the bestiary for a moment, but he wasn’t sure that would help anything.  Probably, like the hunters’ websites that they had found, the bestiary would lean more toward the ‘it’s really hard to kill and alpha, but if you come across one, here’s how you do it,’ line of instruction rather than the ‘this is how you become a good alpha,’ branch.  Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see Scott lounging on the bed playing Pokemon Silver on his old Gameboy Color.

“I’ve got nothing,” he said, at last, stretching his arms over his head with a jaw-popping yawn.  Scott looked up, then pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“Maybe there really isn’t anything out there,” Scott said dismally.  Stiles grimaced as he glanced back toward the screen.  It was nearing three in the morning.  The two had called Melissa to tell her that Scott was staying over, but hadn’t gone into detail about this new change in the werewolf state of things.

“No, but we can work with trial and error again.  At least we have some basis for information this time.  We just have to experiment.  Everyone likes experiments.  Flames, explosions, all sorts of fun, like that time in seventh grade.”

“No blowing things up, Stiles, and _definitely_ no repeat of seventh grade.  I was grounded for a month,” Scott said, though he was grinning, which Stiles counted as a success.  Stiles gave a wistful sigh and shut his computer.

“Right, well, we could always try to steal Peter’s laptop,” Stiles mused, flopping down on the bed beside Scott.  “Though, he probably has a better password than _Allison_ ,” he continued in mock adoring tone.  Scott shoved him off the bed before standing, stretching, and pulling his shirt over his head.

“Because that’s a sound plan.  We don’t even know where Peter is,” he said, kicking off his pants too.  Stiles shrugged and followed suit, stripping down to his spiderman boxers and a loose shirt.  Stiles shrugged as he climbed into bed.  Scott flipped off the light, but Stiles could practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“No, but I seriously want to get ahold of whatever he has on there,” Stiles said, grumbling as Scott pushed him over to the far side of the bed so he could slide in next to him.

“There are pillows in the closed, you could sleep on the floor.  This bed really isn’t big enough for both of us anymore,” he said in mock wistfulness.

“Even with werewolf healing, I don’t think I could survive a night on your terrible floor, but if you want to, by all means,” Scott retorted.

“Whatever, man, just don’t hog all the blankets.  Do you think that Derek would let us have the laptop?  I mean he can’t be such a huge fan of his uncle after the whole parricide thing, right?” he wondered aloud.  Scott elbowed him under the comforter.

“You were the one saying that we should be avoiding him.”

“Yeah, but it’s for the greater good!  Think of the wealth of information hidden beneath its shiny, overpriced, silver exterior.  If we had that, we would never have to speak to another Hale as long as we live.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Scott sighed.  “Except we lost Derek, too.”

“Sneaky little werewolveses,” Stiles muttered quietly, directly into Scott’s ear, making him jump, kicking Stiles hard in the knee as he fell off the bed.  Luckily, Stiles was laughing too hard to notice the pain.

“You boys okay in there?” a voice yelled, presumably from the kitchen.  Stiles was still laughing too hard to answer.

“Fine, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott hollered back, flashing his eyes at Stiles.  That shut him up.  He had gotten used to the gold flare of Scott’s eyes since he had been turned, but there was something particularly eery about the red pinpoints in the dark.

“That’s creepy, man, cut it out,” he said, rolling his eyes to play off the adrenaline that had momentarily washed through his system.  If Scott noticed, he was kind enough not to mention it.  He did, however, shove Stiles even farther into the wall when he returned to the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this one, something interesting is finally happening. You guys will get to see some of Sheriff Stilinski and Ms. McCall in the next chapter, so stay tuned! :)
> 
> Comments and critique are always appreciated!

Scott had honestly thought that Stiles was joking when he had mentioned stealing Peter’s laptop, but apparently that was number one on their agenda for the next day.  He felt absurdly like they were trying to conquer some level in an old nintendo game.  Make it through the enchanted forest, evading the lurking evil, and defeat Derek to unleash the knowledge of the MacBook Pro.  For the third time in two days, he found himself moving through the woods, trying to pay attention to any unusual sounds.  Of course, neither of them were being particularly quiet, so it was hard to hear, but Scott was pretty sure that the only things they were alerting to their presence were squirrels and some birds nesting in the trees.

“Anyway,” Stiles was saying, “Even if he won’t give use the laptop, or can’t, as the case may be, he might have some pointers.  Probably not good pointers, but at least the kind that might nudge you in the direction of not trying to eat me on the full moon, which is coming up at an alarming pace, if you didn’t notice.”

“I’m not going to eat you,” Scott said.  At least he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to eat Stiles.  The feeling of intensity was a different one than what he had felt when he was first changed.  He didn’t really feel any bloodlust (though he hadn’t really established how much of that was just Peter messing with his head) but there was something else that wanted to draw the wolf to the surface.  It was something perilously close to Allison, though he wasn’t sure what.  She was his anchor, after all.  For her to cause the shift was counterintuitive and more than a little unnerving.

“Remember every werewolf movie ever?  I’m the dead friend, it’s fate,” Stiles said, though Scott was almost positive that he was kidding.  He kind of wished that he would stop, though, because Scott didn’t really want to think about eating Stiles.  In any way.

“We’re almost there, you sure you don’t smell anything?” Stiles said.  Scott shook his head, but closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, anyway, trying to focus only on the scents of the forest.  It mostly smelled of earth and wood, and teenage boy.  There was a bit of something that might have been Derek underneath it all, though he couldn’t be sure.  It was a bit off.

“Wait, I might smell something but it’s weird.  Sort of like Derek, but sort of not,” he said.  Stiles made a face and blanched.

“You don’t suppose he’s puking up black ooze again, do you?  Because that’s definitely not something I need to see ever again,” he gagged.  Scott shook his head.

“No, not like that.  Not sick, or anything, just not really Derek.”

“He might have been turned into a vampire.  That would probably do it,” Stiles said, not seeming to care after having determined that there would be no black bile involved in their expedition.

“Vampires aren’t real.  Are they?” he asked.  They hadn’t really done anything with the bestiary, so they actually might be.  If they were, he hoped they were the less invincible variety who didn’t like garlic and couldn’t enter houses without permission.  The badass kind would be a real pain to run into.  Especially with the whole werewolf versus vampire thing.

As the neared the Hale house, Scott stopped and sniffed again.  “He’s definitely in there,” Scott said, “but he still smells weird.”  Stiles chuckled at that and marched over to the house.

“Derek!” he shouted, “Come out of your structurally unsound house, we need to talk!”

Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles’ theatrics.  There was no sound from the house except for the staccato beating of a heart.  He didn’t really know what they had expected.  Derek probably wasn’t any more happy to see them than they were to see him.  Still, he would have to realize eventually, that if they were going to that much trouble to contact him, that there was some major shit going down.  

“Dude, seriously, we know you’re in there, so if you’re not dying, get your fuzzy ass out here,” Stiles said, glancing at Scott with a frown after a moment passed without any movement on Derek’s end.  “Please?” Stiles tried, shrugging when Scott chuckled.

“Again,” Stiles said, eyebrows drawing up questioningly.  Scott shrugged and made an ‘I’ll tell you later’ gesture with his hand.

“Okay, if you don’t come out, we’re taking it as an invitation to let ourselves in,” Stiles said.  Scott shrugged at him to signify that there was no response.  The two of them tread carefully up the rotting wood of the front porch and pushed the door open slowly, just in case.  Scott didn’t sense anyone else in the house, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  There were still issues between the hunters and werewolves, though, honestly, after the whole kanima thing with Gerard, Chris had been a bit more lenient with Scott.  Not enough that he was ever going to see Scott as an acceptable boyfriend for Allison, but good enough that he wasn’t actively trying to kill him.

Inside, there was no evidence of foul play (at least recent enough to warrant concern).  Scott sniffed, tentatively.  He didn’t know how Derek could stand to hang around here.  More than the creepiness that came from his entire family being burned alive here, it was just suffocating.  The scent of burned wood that wasn’t even drowned out by the dirt and rot, scorched his nostrils and throat.

Scott motioned for Stiles to follow him into the house and around the staircase.  He had never been past the foyer, in the past, and wasn’t particularly surprised to find that the back half of the house was even more burned than the front.  Stiles let out a low whistle as he surveyed the damage.

“Derek?” Scott called, following the scent of the alpha toward what was probably a living room at one point.  There was no answer, but the quiet rustle of jeans and cotton against skin told him that they were at least going the right way.  Scott tensed as he reached the entrance to the room, feeling irrationally challenged, which was weird, because Derek wasn’t all that threatening, if Scott was being honest.

“Who are you?  What do you what?” Derek called, his voice sounding off, similar to his scent but less distinct.

“Dude, it’s us, what are you talking about?” Stiles said, pushing past Scott into the room.  “Holy shit!  What the hell happened?” Stiles exclaimed, flailing his arms so that Scott had to dodge a hand to the face.  It took a second to see what Stiles was talking about.  Derek (or at least what was probably Derek) was standing in the shade by the window, but it was bright enough to light his anxious expression.  As soon as Scott stepped around the doorframe, Derek’s eyes snapped to him, warily.  His eyes were their normal green-grey color, but Scott could tell he wanted to shift.

“Woah, don’t wolf out on us, dude.  What happened?” Stiles asked again, seeming to have recovered from his initial shock.  Scott still couldn’t do anything but stare at Derek, not quite able to process what was going on.

“You are Derek, right?” he tried, weakly, as he examined what appeared to be a miniature Derek Hale.  The kid was tall but gangly, wearing pants that were unrecognizably loose, belted around his hips and a henley that could very well belong to Derek, hanging limp on his shoulders.  There was a flash of recognition when he said the name, though, and really, who else had those eyebrows?  But what the hell happened?

“Why?  Who are you?” the kid said again.  Scott shuffled his feet, glancing over at Stiles who was nervously chewing the string of his hoodie as he examined Derek with a frown.

“Uh, I’m Scott, and this is Stiles,” Scott said awkwardly, gesturing between them.

“I don’t know you,” he said shortly, glancing at the door and then the window, as though assessing the best way to escape.

“Unfortunately, you do,” Stiles said, “ Don’t look at me like that, I’m not crazy.  You’re the one who’s shrunk since last we met!  Ha, see, you know I’m not lying.”

“What happened?” little Derek asked, in a voice that bordered on pleading as he glanced around, still keeping his distance.  Scott’s gut sunk, thinking of the headstone with the neat rows of lettering.

“No idea what happened to you, we were sort of hoping that you could tell us,” Stiles said, either oblivious to, or ignoring what Derek’s question really was, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“What?  The last think I remember since when?  You aren’t making any sense,” he said, stepping back when Scott moved farther into the room.

“So you don’t remember anything weird happening recently?  Nothing out of the ordinary?  Maybe missing a couple hours of memory or something?” Stiles inquired, trying to edge forward.  Scott pulled him back, still feeling that strange threatening presence from Derek.  It was as though his instincts were agitated by the presence of another alpha.  Which probably made sense.  If Derek was even an alpha right now.

“You should go now,” Derek said, eyes flashing red for an instant.  Well, that answered that question, at least.

“Dude, we can’t just leave you here.  I told you, you know us.  Or you did,” Stiles said.

“I. Do. Not. Know. You,” he repeated, glaring at them.

“You do,” Scott said, “But this is all a little weird.  Really weird, actually, and I’ve got no explanation for it.”

“Nope, and our vet is absent, so we’re kind of out of luck,” Stiles added helpfully.

“Vet?” Derek asked confusedly, his eyebrows furrowing so that they almost became a unibrow.

“Yeah, it’s a long story,” Scott said, “But do you think you could come with us?  This place is . . . not really a good place to have a conversation, and we need to let Isaac know that we found you.”

“No,” Derek said, shaking his head adamantly.  “I think you should just leave.”

“That’s not going to work.  Look, Derek,” Stiles said, pushing Scott out of the way with a look, “we want to help.  Or we need your help, or something.  Anyway, we don’t want to hurt you, dude, but some weird shit is going on and there are hunters and alpha werewolves crawling all over the place.”

“Hunters?” Derek said, paling as glanced at the burned walls of the house.  “Why?  There haven’t been hunters here in ages.  We follow the code, there’s no reason for them to be here.”

“Some hunters don’t follow the code,” Scott said softly, meeting Derek’s gaze.  “It’s not safe here, but we can take you somewhere that is.”

“Di—did they do this?” he asked with a quick gesture around the room.  “What happened?”

“It was a hunter,” Scott confirmed, “but it happened years ago.  The hunter who did it is dead.  Your uncle Peter killed her last summer.”  Instead of reassuring him, that only made Derek pale further and Scott could sense the nervous grief rolling off him.

“If that’s all true, then who are you?” Derek asked again, though Scott could tell he believed them, “How do I know you?  Are we friends?”  Beside Scott, Stiles scrubbed a hand over his head.

“We’re reluctant allies, I guess,” Stiles said, letting out a slow breath.  “But we really don’t want to hurt you.  We’re the good guys, here.”  Scott didn’t analyze why his voice wavered on the last words, but he thought he understood.  There weren’t really any good guys in this situation, they were merely the lesser of too many evils.

~

Of all the ways this day could have gone, and all of the ways he had imagined finding Derek, this had never crossed his mind.  Apparently werewolves sometimes went all Benjamin Button or at least some variation thereof, though no one was particularly clear on the details.  Derek seemed extremely hesitant to go with them, but after another reminder about the hunters and a conversation about why he should trust them, Derek followed them to Stiles’s Jeep which was parked on the side of the road just before the path leading up to the Hale house.

“We should call Isaac,” Scott said, “he has keys to Derek’s loft, so we could meet there.”

“Who’s Isaac?” Derek muttered from the back seat.  Stiles didn’t know if he was more worried or relieved at how well Derek was taking everything.  Things were really messed up from where he and Scott stood, but it must be a lot worse from Derek’s perspective considering he was displaced in time or something.

“Another werewolf,” Stiles answered, noting the way Derek stiffened.

“There are more of you?  Is your entire pack here?” Derek demanded, glancing at the door as though trying to decide if it was worth jumping out of a moving vehicle.

“Yes and no, he’s a mutual friend, and he’s part of _your_ pack, not mine,” Scott said, shrugging.  Stiles nodded.  It was hard to explain everything when there were no clean lines in Beacon Hills.  Everything just became sort of a conglomeration of crap after the great werewolf reveal.

“My pack . . .” Derek trailed off.  Stiles was pretty sure he wanted to ask something more, but stopped short.  Stiles got that.  Why ask questions that you didn’t want the answer to?  “But you’re an alpha, what are you doing here?”

“I live here, I grew up here, and I don’t even have a pack, really.  Not a werewolf one, at least,” Scott said, making a vague gesture toward Stiles, even as he turned basically all the way around in his seat to survey Derek.  There was complete silence from the back seat.  Scott turned back around after a moment and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Isaac says that he can meet us at the loft in a few,” Scott said when he hung up, obviously for Stiles’ benefit because there was no way Derek wasn’t listening in on the conversation.

“All right, then, did you get the address?  Because I have obviously never been there before,” Stiles reminded him.

 

The loft was . . . an improvement, at least, from the old Hale house.  It wasn’t really inviting, but it had four walls and a roof that didn’t appear to have holes in it.  There was even furniture, if you counted a coffee table with one leg propped up by a used copy of _The Awakening_ and a couch that looked like it had been mauled by a tiger, furniture.  There did seem to be indoor plumbing, though, which was one of the finer commodities of living in 21 st century America.

Derek, on the other hand, looked distinctly unimpressed.

“I live here?” he said in a dry tone that was a perfect imitation of his older self.  Well, some things never changed.

“Yeah,” Isaac said awkwardly.  Derek didn’t seem overly interested in getting to know Isaac, and was, in fact, kind of half hiding behind Scott, standing stiffly and with an unobstructed path to the door.

“Dude, trust me,” Stiles said, “it’s an improvement over your last couple places.”

“Anyway,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.  “We should probably get some things straightened out.  I mean, we kind of need to figure out what the hell happened to you so we can fix it.”

“Nothing happened to me.  None of this makes sense,” Derek said, moving restlessly from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, because something happened to you, so just come sit down so we can figure this out,” Stiles snapped.  He actually felt a little guilty at the startled look Derek gave him before slinking over to a floral arm chair and perching on the edge of the cushion.

“So you’ve been missing for—“ 

“Three days, give or take,” Isaac supplied.

“But you don’t remember anything strange having happened in that time,” Stiles continued, sitting down next to Scott on the couch (which, upon closer examination smelled a bit like wet cat, Stiles wondered how exactly the werewolves could stand the stench when it was apparent to his inferior human senses).  

“Because when you disappeared, you were in your twenties and now you look about half that,” Isaac pointed out, seeming almost as confused as Derek was.

“I’m not ten,” Derek scoffed, “I’m fifteen.  And, nothing _happened_ , exactly, but three days ago, I was walking through the woods, it’s a shortcut to my house from—“ Derek shook his head, color rising in his cheeks.  Stiles desperately wanted to ask, but refrained.  “Anyway, when I got back, my house was,” Derek shrugged helpelessly, “gone.”

“And this didn’t seem strange to you at the time?  You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” Stiles asked in disbelief.  Derek’s eyes hardened as he glared over at him.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he growled.  “And of course it seemed strange!  Everything was gone, burnt, and no one was there.  It was like I hadn’t been gone for two hours but—“

“More like seven years?” Isaac asked quietly.  Derek nodded, his face contorting into a painful grimace and Stiles wondered how you told someone that their entire family was dead (save one homicidal zombie uncle) even if they clearly already knew it.

“Yeah,” Derek said, sinking so far into the chair that Stiles thought he might fall out of it.

“The fire happened seven years ago,” Scott said.  “You’ve been living in New York or something since then.  You only came back this last year when some strange stuff started happening.  That was the whole fiasco where I was turned.”

“You were bitten,” Derek muttered, “and what about Isaac?”

“Yeah, and a Erica and Boyd,” Stiles supplied, “But they’re MIA.”

“They’re in my pack, too?” Derek asked.  Scott nodded and for some reason Derek looked stricken, “Why are they missing?  Why haven’t we found them?”

“Well, they left voluntarily,” Isaac said, “They went to find a new pack.  It’s just that with the alpha pack and the hunters, not to mention the kanima and Gerard, we aren’t sure that it’s still voluntary.”

Stiles watched as Derek’s brows drew closer and closer together as Isaac continued, his fingers whitening where they clutched the arms of the chair.  “Why is all of this happening?” Derek asked.  It was honestly not the thing Stiles had expected him to say.

“All of what?”

“All of this— crud,” Derek said, and Stiles tried very hard not to laugh at that.

“What do you mean?  You’re the born werewolf, doesn’t it come with the territory?” he asked.  Derek looked at him incredulously.

“No,” he said, “None of that is supposed to happen.  We’re an established pack in our ancestral territory . . . or we were, anyway.  There’s no reason for hunters, or other packs, or whatever a kanima is, to be here!  None of that seems out of the ordinary to you?”

Honestly, it hadn’t really seemed all that much weirder than werewolves to Stiles, but now that he was thinking about it, it did seem peculiar.  When he was younger, there hadn’t been anything particularly weird in Beacon Hills, and interrupted only by the occurrence of the Hale fire, there was nothing of the werewolf variety in the intervening years either.  So, either they had been much better at covering their tracks seven years ago, or it really was out of the ordinary to be bombarded with supernatural shit.  That would probably explain Derek’s cluelessness, then.

“We wouldn’t really know,” Scott said, “Before last year, I didn’t even know werewolves existed.  But we can talk about that later.  Right now, I need to talk to Stiles.  Privately.”  Scott stood, pulling Stiles up by the arm and out the door to the loft, leaving Derek and Isaac eyeing each other nervously in the other room.

They reached the Jeep before Scott dropped his arm and motioned for him to get in, following suit on the other side.

“What do we do with him?” Scott demanded as soon as the doors were shut.  Stiles shrugged.

“I don’t know.  Leave him with Isaac?  That is his house, right?  We’ll find out what happened to him, fix him, then go back to our only contact being that of the mortal peril variety.”

“We can’t just leave him there.  He’s _fifteen_ and misplaced in space and time or something.”

“Fifteen’s plenty old enough to live on your own.  I mean, Isaac makes it work, right?” Stiles said.  It was a bit of a crappy thing to say, but it was true.

“Stiles, you realize that he just lost his entire family, right?” Scott asked anxiously.  And that, well, that was a good point, actually.  This was why best friends were dangerous, they knew all of one’s weak spots.

“But they’ve been dead for years . . . or most of them have,” Stiles tried half-heartedly.

“Not to him,” Scot said, shrugging.

“Well, we can figure that out later.  First, I guess we have to break the news to him,” Stiles said.  It made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

“How?” Scott asked quietly.  To that, Stiles had no answer.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, rubbing his hand over his head then knocking his funny bone against the steering wheel as his arm came back down.

“Stiles,” Scott paused, giving Stiles his best puppy eyes mixed with a bit of wary contriteness, “This is getting out of hand.  Don’t kill me, but I _really_ think that we should tell your dad.  He’s the sheriff and we are in way over our heads.”

Stiles just stared at him dumbfounded.  How could Scott even suggest that?  His dad was all he had left, there was no way he was going to get him involved in this.  Scott seemed to sense his thoughts, because he put his hands up placatingly before Stiles even spoke.

“No way, Scott!  We’re not getting him involved in this shit.  And what can he do to help, anyway?  There are werewolves running around, it’s not like he has any idea what to do with that!” he near shouted.  Scott made an irritated sound.

“I know,” he urged, “But just think about it for a minute.  Your dad is the sheriff, right?  That really might be useful, even if it’s only in the human part of the world.”

“I don’t care how much help he could be, Scott.  I don’t want him getting involved!” Stiles yelled.

“Is it really that much safer?  Is it safer at all?” Scott said, voice rising to meet Stiles’, “Because, honestly, I don’t see how letting him go around blind is helping anyone!”

“Have you failed to notice how whenever someone gets involved with werewolves, their chances of dying increase exponentially?  Scott, I can’t lose him.  I don’t care what else happens, he can’t get involved,” Stiles insisted, glaring at his friend.

“His lack of knowledge is not going to protect him, you know why?  Because _you_ are already involved,” Scott reasoned.  Stiles shook his head, spluttering some, probably unintelligible, response.

“I mean, you’re the one who bases reality on TV shows, is it ever better to be left in the dark?  If your dad knows about this stuff, he can be prepared if anything does happen.”

Stiles cursed, punching the steering wheel and then scraping his fingers over his scalp.  It was infuriating, but Stiles knew that Scott had a point.  Whether he liked it or not, things were getting worse, and if his dad ended up in another situation like the one at the police station, he was going to have to know how to deal with it.

“Fuck,” Stiles said, rolling his head back against the headrest and breathing for a few moments before looking over at Scott and nodding.

“When does your dad get off shift tonight?” Scott asked.  Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed.

“Ten minutes, assuming he’s done with everything,” Stiles said.

“Should we go now?  We can go back to your house and tell him there.”

“Oh my god, fine,” Stiles grumbled.  Scott nodded, pulling his phone out, presumably to text Isaac the plan.  Under any other circumstances, Stiles might have felt guilty about leaving Isaac and Derek there in all their awkwardness, but it wasn’t any other circumstance and Stiles only had the capacity for one emotion at the moment, and that was dread.


End file.
